After Party

The guy hovering above me thrusts into me one final time, before shuddering and collapsing as a dead weight on top of me. He pants heavily, even though he'd only been jackhammering away for about five minutes.

I roll my eyes. Looks like I'll be using my vibrator again tonight, then.

I give him a gentle shove on the shoulder, and he rolls off me with a grunt, pulling his limp dick with him as he goes. Still no indication that he might remember to get me off, too.

His eyes close, his breathing evens out, and now I have a sleeping-fucking-stranger in my bed and no orgasm to show for it. Great. I wonder briefly if any of the other guys in the bar would have done a better job. Christ, my hand would've done a better job.

Sighing deeply, I shove off the bed and walk to the door, grabbing my robe to cover my nakedness before stepping out into the night-dark hallway. I know my roommate, Becca, will already be asleep, so I make my footsteps as light as possible on the way to the kitchen. If I wake her, I know I'll just get a lecture about one-night stands and bringing strange men back to the apartment. Pass on that tonight, thanks.

Stumbling in the darkness, I make my way over to the countertop, reaching for a cold can of Coke to wash away the taste of the stranger's sloppy kisses.

"Doesn't look like that guy did a very good job," says a familiar, deep, masculine voice behind me.

I whirl, grabbing at the front of my robe to keep it from flapping open.

Sure enough, there leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded and a smirk on his face, is Cole. My long-time friend, Becca's boyfriend and honestly, the hottest thing I've ever laid eyes on. He and I went to college together, have been friends-with-an-edge for years, and had a heavy flirtation going for a while until I stupidly introduced him to Becca. If I'm being honest, the heavy flirtation continued after that too.

Now I have to endure watching their relationship in my own home, and consoling Becca after one of their many, many fallouts. Becca and I aren't particularly great friends, and it's torturous hearing her whine about the man I want so badly. Thankfully, her room is the other end of the apartment to mine, so I don't need to listen to them 'making up' afterwards.

But here he is now, standing in my kitchen like he owns the place, looking like some sort of Greek god with his long dark curls, golden-tan skin and chiselled face. His face should be harsh, with all those hard lines, the razor-sharp jaw and cheekbones, but it's softened by the beautiful, full mouth.

Christ, Cara, stop staring at his lips.

I force my eyes up to meet his, and yep, he's caught me staring. Fuck. His mouth is still curled in that knowing smirk, and there's an arrogance there that makes me damp in a way that the boy currently in my bed never did.

I clear my throat. "What do you mean?"

I hope he doesn't notice the hoarseness of my voice.

Lazily, he sweeps his gaze down over my body, taking all of me in. I'm instantly, keenly aware of the thin silk of my robe, how short it is, and the fact I'm bare underneath. Shit, he can probably see my nipples hardening against the fabric. Can I cross my arms over my chest without being obvious? The longer he looks at me like that, the wetter I'm getting.

He pushes off from the door, walks towards me with almost predatory focus. My breath catches as he reaches me, braces his hand on the countertop, leans in close enough to feel his breath against the shell of my ear. I resist the urge to shudder.

"I mean, Cara, that you wouldn't still look like that, if it had been me that just fucked you," he whispers onto my skin.

Then he reaches behind me, grabs a can of Coke and saunters away, leaving me standing there, breathless, still clutching my robe.

The soft, sexy sound of his laugh rumbles through the hallway.

---

I kick out the shit-sex guy as soon as he wakes up the next morning. He seems to think we might go for round two, and is surprised when I tell him that I have absolutely zero interest in having him inside me again. He slinks off with a scowl.

When he's gone, I take a long shower, enjoying the feel of the hot water searing over my skin. I soap myself, taking my time, cleaning all traces of him away. The slick slide of the water feels too good, and I end up staying in the shower too long. I have to rush to throw my long, dark hair up into a damp braid, and hurriedly shove on my skirt and blouse for work.

Becca and Cole are already at the kitchen table, having breakfast. She's obviously noted last night's guy leaving, because she has that pious, condescending look on her face that makes me want to slap her. She tips her blonde head to the side, studying me like I'm some unknown creature she needs to save. If she launches into a lecture about sleeping around, I think I just might follow through on that slap. It's not even like I'm that promiscuous; I've not had a relationship in months, but I've only had a handful of one-nighters in that time. Just because she's so uptight about enjoying her own body, doesn't mean we all need to be.

Cole catches my eye and winks, our little clandestine meeting clearly just between us. I smile sweetly back, refusing to blush. Refusing to let him see that I went back to my room last night, pulled out my best-loved vibrator from my bedside table, and made myself come while the comatose one-night stand snored beside me. All fuelled by thoughts of Cole.

Somehow, though, the weight of his stare tells me that he already knows. I wonder briefly if he thinks of me when he's fucking Becca, and wonder if I'd like having that power over him.

He grins. Becca's lips purse further. Yeah, I'd fucking love having that power over both of them.

"Cara --"

I can tell she's gearing up to launch into that sermon, so I grab a cereal bar from the cabinet and take my coffee to go.

"Sorry, already running late for work. See you later."

She calls after me, but I'm already halfway out the door.

---

Work drags all morning; the restaurant I work at is always dead on the breakfast shift. There are only two customers in, an older couple who come in every week -- black coffee for him, cappuccino and pancakes for her. They know the place so well that they just walk in and choose their usual table now, a small circular one right in the bay window.

It doesn't leave much else to do, once they're served. Maybe I could clean more tables, but they're already spotless. I check the salt and pepper shakers. Full. Now what?

As if in answer, my phone pings in my apron.

You rushed away pretty quick this morning. -- Cole

A thrill runs up my spine. We haven't messaged much, since he and Becca started officially seeing each other three months ago. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe this is innocent, but somehow it feels like the start of something.

Well, I was up late last night. - Cara

Vague, testing the waters. I hope he takes the rope I'm throwing him, tell myself I won't be disappointed if he plays it safe. He starts typing his reply; I try to swallow my nerves.

And did things improve for you, after I saw you?

He's showing me he's willing to play along, but not ready to show all his cards yet. Maybe I should be the brave one. Deep breaths. I type, delete, re-type, then settle on:

They did, because I took matters into my own hands.

Barely a moment passes.

Were you thinking about me?

Yes.

Good girl.

The rest of my day passes much more pleasantly.

---

The next couple of weeks pass in much the same way. I've hardly seen Cole at the apartment, but we've been messaging most days. Sometimes general chitchat, but most often the messages descend into utter filth. Sexting was something we did occasionally before he got together with Becca, but this is on another level.

I should feel guilty. I know I should feel bad about Becca. They've been fighting more recently, and her eyes are red-rimmed when I see her at the apartment, but she's been such an asshole to me the past few months that I struggle to muster up the guilt. She knew that he and I had an unspoken thing and she still went there. The only reason I'm still living with her is because of how convenient the apartment is. I tell myself these are just messages, they don't count.

But all I can think of is Cole. Every night, when I'm in bed, I pleasure myself thinking about him. Or if he's not with her and is able to message, I have my phone in one hand, and the other hand between my legs, fingers buried deep inside me, frantically pumping myself while we message and he tells me exactly what he'd do to me.

I don't know how I'm going to cope, seeing him in person again. There's always been huge attraction and lust between us, but what we've been doing the past couple of weeks has turned that spark of flame into a towering inferno.

I want him, badly, but I can't have him.

The first test of will is going to come tomorrow. Becca is throwing a party at our apartment; I'm expected to co-host, and obviously Cole will be there as her boyfriend. Already, I feel the nerves beginning to climb up my veins, but beneath that lies an undercurrent of excitement. Pure anticipation.

My phone pings.

Cara -- I'm sorry, but we have to put a stop to this. We can't do this to Becca. I'm sorry. Cole x

Crushing disappointment settles on me for a heartbeat, and I feel blindsided. Just last night, he was telling me exactly where on my body he wanted to lick, where he wanted my mouth on him. He told me how badly Becca has been treating him, and how much he looks forward to talking to me. He started this whole thing, whatever it is. Now, suddenly, he's done?

Okay, fine. He can be out if that's what he wants, I have never begged a man for anything in my life.

But that doesn't mean I need to make it easy for him.

---

It's a half hour before the party is due to start, and I'm nearly ready. I didn't reply to Cole's weird half-assed message yesterday, because fuck him, but I did go shopping for a dress to wear tonight.

I may or may not have had the words fuck you running through my head when I picked it out.

Slinky silver fabric hugs my body and barely covers my ass. The neckline is high, but the dress is completely backless so it's obvious I'm not wearing a bra. Checking myself in the mirror for the millionth time, I can't help but admire the way the material clings around my breasts and glides over my hips. It's tight in all the right places, sexy without being too much.

My dark hair ripples down over my shoulders in messy curls, my makeup subtle apart from my eyes, dark with smudgy liner. I top off the look with skyscraper stilettos, sharp enough to pierce a heart.

It would be a lie if I said I didn't get ready with Cole's potential reaction playing over in my mind. But fuck it, I look damn hot, and if he doesn't want me then I sure as hell don't need him either.

It's been too long since I've had good sex, since I've been fucked the way I want to be fucked. Tonight, I plan to fix that, with or without Cole.

Fixing a smile on my lips, I head out to help Becca with any final party prep.

She's in the living room, looking vaguely harassed. Wearing a loose-fitting blue floral dress, her blonde hair down for once, she looks pretty in a demure kind of way. She takes one look at me and frowns.

"Isn't that a bit much for a house-party?" Her tone makes it clear that she certainly thinks it's too much, and doesn't approve.

I am so done with her slut-shaming shit.

"Well, I am hoping to get laid tonight," I say with a wink. She gapes at me, brow furrowing in obvious distaste, but I saunter over to the other side of the room without giving her a chance to reply.

There's not much to do, since we already pushed back the couches earlier, and the drinks are already set up in the kitchen. So I start flicking through Spotify to find a decent playlist for the party. Music thrums to life, soaring out of the speakers and washing over me. I'm so looking forward to dancing tonight, throwing myself into the music.

Guests soon begin arriving, a mix of Becca's friends and mine. My best friend, Annie, finds me as it starts getting busier and lets out a low whistle.

"Whoaaa. You look frickin' amazing -- is that why Little Miss Priss looks so fuming?"

I swat at her arm to shush her, but I do it with a smile on my face. Annie can't stand Becca, and the feeling's mutual.

Seeing that Becca herself is about to make her way over to us, I grab Annie's arm.

"Come on, let's get a drink before she tells us exactly how we're failing at life."

Two minutes later, we're standing in the kitchen with our drinks -- rum and coke for me, vodka soda for Annie -- laughing together. I've missed this so much; Annie's been swamped with work recently, and we haven't been able to spend as much time together. I have only told her a little about the Cole situation, and she presses me for more juicy details now.

"He said he'd do what to you?!" she shrieks.

"Say it a bit louder," I hiss back, elbowing her. "I don't think the old lady two apartments up heard you."

"Oh, Cara, you're in deep shit. That man could do all of those things to me. I'd die happy. Screw Little Miss Priss. I bet she makes him turn all the lights off."

"You're terrible."

"Yeah, and you're horny."

She's got me there.

"So," she says, "I take it this whole thing is for his benefit, then." She gestures vaguely at my ass-skimming, tight-as-sin dress.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"Sure you don't."

"Annie, he totally led me on, and he's unavailable anyway. I don't give a shit about him."

"Well, you won't care that he's just walked through the door then, looking hot as hell."

I manage to resist the urge to whip around to check -- just -- but I freeze up, my arms stiffening at my sides. Annie notices my reaction and tips her head back in a laugh.

"Yeah, you really don't give a shit, do you?"

And then he's there next to me, and Annie's melting away into the crowd with a murmured "see you later".

When I turn to him, his green eyes aren't so much burning with desire, but scorching with it. His gaze feels like a brand as it rakes over every inch of me, lingering on my breasts and then my lips. He looks so incredibly hot, standing there in a black tee and dark jeans, his hair curling over the nape of his neck. But then I remember how he made it crystal clear that he didn't want to do this anymore, and I force down the heat rising in my core.

"Cara --" he begins, but I cut him off.

"Enjoy the party, Cole. I'm sure you'll have fun with your girlfriend."

A little spark of pride flares in me as he gapes at me, the sexy smirk wiped clean off his face. I turn on my heel and stride towards the door, putting just a little extra swish in my hips as I go.

Passing Becca on my way out, I can't help the smile that forms on my lips as she glances warily between Cole and me.

Let her wonder.

---

The playlist I picked goes down a storm, the space we cleared in the living room serving as a makeshift dancefloor. Our apartment is full to bursting with people now, and it's getting a little sweaty with so many bodies.

Annie has been bringing me drink after drink, and I feel pleasantly buzzed with the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream. We dance together, our bodies slick as we move to the music booming through the speakers. The alcohol and the thrum of music, the beat moving my body in a heady rhythm, have me on the cusp of euphoria. This is my happy place.

I feel even happier, having witnessed the quiet, furious argument between Becca and Cole earlier. They've barely been together all evening, but he's been looking at me plenty. Drinking me in, barely hiding the sheer want in his eyes.

But he's not the only one. I've already rejected a few advances tonight, and I relish the feeling of empowerment, the knowing that I'm the object of such desire.

I catch the eye of a guy across the 'dancefloor'; I don't know him, but he's cute. Not Cole-level sexy, but cute enough. Leaning in to shout into Annie's ear above the music, I break away from her and move towards him.

We don't speak, we just start dancing, our bodies pressed close together in the crush of people now in here. I have the brief notion of worry, about what kind of state my apartment's going to be in tomorrow with all these people, but I let it slip away as quickly as it comes. This is not a night for worry.

The mystery stranger closes the tiny distance between us, to let me know that his name is Ben. I tell him mine in return, but then we fall silent again, content just to dance.

Without even needing to look up, I know when Cole enters the room. Something in my body just recognises his proximity, I guess. He climbs up onto the back of one of the couches, beside one of his friends. Even when I'm not looking, I know that his gaze keeps darting back to me, like we are somehow magnetised.

I shimmy even closer to Ben, wrap my arms around his neck as he grips my hips. His eyes dart to my lips, and I know he wants to lean in and kiss me. Cole still watches us.

I feel powerful, a force of nature, a wild thing wanted by both of these men. Maybe I can't have the one that I really want, but I can put on a show.

I close the distance to Ben's lips, running my fingers through his hair as I kiss him. If I've taken him by surprise, he doesn't show it. He matches my kiss with passion, his lips tangling with mine. His hands lower from my hips to gently cup my ass.

We break away and he turns me, pulls me back against him so that my ass is nestled against his crotch. We begin moving to the music again, and he brushes my tangled hair away from my neck. He leans down, nose brushing my ear, lips grazing my neck.

I look up, and my eyes meet Cole's. His eyes blaze, and a muscle thrums in his jaw. Anger simmers there. He's jealous. A thrill rushes through me, and I feel my underwear beginning to dampen.

For a few moments, we stay locked like that -- Ben kissing my neck and grinding on my ass, Cole staring me down as if he'd strip me bare right here and now. It's intoxicating.

Then, the spell is broken.

Annie rushes over to me, breathless.

"Cara, I'm sorry, but I need you."

She gestures over to Cole as well, signalling that he needs to haul ass over to us. I apologise to Ben, who looks vaguely lust-addled but gallantly waves me off. Tells me to find him later, if I want to.

Annie leads Cole and I through the packed hallway, to the bathroom. In there, we find a completely inebriated Becca, her pristine blonde hair dishevelled and her head propped on the toilet bowl. Little Miss Priss who never puts a foot wrong. Completely smashed.

"Figured she's your problem," Annie tells us.

She couldn't be more accurate. Becca is a massive fucking problem, in more ways than one.

I groan.

"We're going to have to get her back to her room. Annie... Could you go and tell everyone the party's over?"

"Sure thing, boss."

She slides out of the room, and Cole and I are left there with a very drunk, very unhelpful Becca.

"I rrreally don't like you," she slurs up at me from the bathroom floor.

"Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual," I reply, "but I'm still going to help your ass to bed."

Together, Cole and I get her on her feet, and prop her up with one arm over each of us. Half carrying her, we get her through the people still lingering in the hall, Annie yelling at them to leave as we pass. When we reach Becca's bedroom, we heave her into bed, still in her dress.